


Summer Spray

by yanatya



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M, PWP, Standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-28
Updated: 2003-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanatya/pseuds/yanatya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donna's air conditioning is broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Spray

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the State of the Union August 2003 Heat Challenge.

"You're still here!" Donna said with alarm.

"Yes."

"You have the thing."

"I'm aware of that." Already exasperated, Josh was scraping files together in a ramshackle pile, preparing to shove the damn things in his backpack.

"Okay, well, since you haven't left..."

"And the fact that I'm trying to leave shouldn't stop you from dumping more stuff on me..." he muttered.

She ignored him and started running through the stack of messages. "Senator Hooper's office called about the FHWA. They want to meet on highways."

"Put them on a highway, Donna. I'll run them over faster than you can say 'kiss my ass'."

"That's a no, then."

"That's a no."

"You seem a little tense."

"I hate these people, Donna."

"Lobbyists?"

"Democrats in general." He ignored her snicker and finished stuffing things into his pack. He turned in a  
circle, trying to recall whether he'd left anything behind.

Donna handed him a box. "Here's the thing for Brenda."

"Damn," he said. "I would have forgotten it."

"The Italian Ambassador was quite taken with her."

"But why the hell didn't he just courier this?" He made a frustrated gesture with the box.

"Careful!" said Donna, reaching out to still his hand. "If I recall correctly, you mentioned your 'international flavour', which in my opinion is just idle boasting, and the Ambassador, who knows you, said something about how no matter what country you're in, women the world over love it when a man pays attention to the little details..." She broke off thoughtfully. "Don't men like attention to the little details as well?"

"The little details, yes, but especially the big details," he smirked as rummaged on his desk, trying to make sure he'd left nothing important behind.

She rolled her eyes. "And if you want my opinion..."

"Another one?"

"The Ambassador appealed to your ego. He said that a hand-delivered gift made a much more favourable impression on a woman..."

"Than something she gets in the mail," Josh sighed. "I didn't think to point out that the FedEx guy technically does hand-deliver?"

"The Ambassador really did pump your self-image as a ladies' man."

"I am a ladies' man. Josh Lyman, Ladies' Man, that's me, Donna."

Donna pressed her lips together to stifle her response.

"And now I'm stuck delivering a personal gift for him," Josh finished sullenly, ignoring her expression. "He probably just wanted to save on postage."

"Well, as long as you make it clear that it isn't from you," observed Donna dryly.

He snorted, hefting his pack over his shoulder.

"Plus," she couldn't resist adding, "if you hadn't mentioned needing to see Brenda for your little 'errand', Leo would probably have sent Will and Ed to the thing tonight."

He didn't bother to comment as he turned around once more, scanning the office.

"You have everything," she supplied.

"Good." He took off down the hall and she hurried after him, clutching her numerous message slips.

"Leo--and Amy--but surprisingly, mostly Leo--wanted to remind you not to piss anyone off tonight," she said, falling in step beside him.

"Oh, I'm a freaking ray of sunshine, just like always, Donna," he said, showing his teeth in a way no one would mistake for a smile.

"Good. Also CJ's asked for fifteen minutes on your schedule first thing tomorrow."

"How early is first thing?"

"Six."

"No."

"Just kidding, she said eleven."

"You keeping me on my toes, Donnatella?"

"I like it when you say no to me."

"Sick woman." But he chuckled, and some of the tension he'd accumulated anticipating a night of schmoozing drained away.

"Also, Sam'll be in town tomorrow, so I cleared your afternoon."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Really."

"Yes."

"You're not kidding."

"No."

"Okay."

She shuffled through her messages once more as they turned a corner.

"Really?" he asked again.

"No."

"Donna!" he whined.

"You are so easy."

He snorted. "You have no idea."

"You have an entire afternoon and evening to drink beer with Sam and trade stories of your sexual  
conquests."

Halting at the main doors to the West Wing, he turned to her. "Is that really what you think we men do?"

She stopped in front of him. "Yes."

"You're right," he grinned.

"Though your who-nailed-who stories are nothing he hasn't heard before."

"I haven't seen him in six months!"

She looked straight at him.

He met her gaze for as long as he could. "You're mean," he said finally, opening the door.

"It's part of my charm."

"True." He backed out into the sunlight, raising his hand in farewell as he turned away.

"And I'm using your apartment tonight," she added quietly.

"Fine," he answered, not bothering to turn back to her.

She waited five seconds before her words registered with him. Then he stopped, turned, and jogged back to where she stood at the door.

"What?"

"Just while you're out."

"You know how you like it when I tell you no?"

"But Josh..."

"This is one of those times."

"My water's broken."

He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and shut his mouth again.

"And you know I don't have air conditioning."

"Your apartment sucks."

"I'm aware of that," she said tersely.

"Fine," he said, backing away.

"You won't even know I've been there," she promised. "Plus, you were going to leave your car here overnight anyway. I'll drive it home for you and take a cab."

His expression was one of resignation. "Don't forget to lock up," he said unnecessarily.

"I won't."

"Even while you're..."

"...in the apartment," she finished. "I know."

"Okay. Enjoy the running water." He turned then and strode away through the muggy August heat.

"Hell, yes," she muttered under her breath.

*****

She hated her apartment with a passion.

It was bad enough in winter when the heat was sporadic. In the summer, though, everything was optional, from water to electricity plus all the jammed windows in between.

Fortunately, with Josh's long hours, the apartment was just a place to keep her stuff. She was rarely there for more than five or six hours at a stretch, and that was usually at night, when the air was cooler. If she had a cold shower and lay on top of her bed soaking wet, she could usually manage to fall asleep.

Unless, of course, the water was broken too. She had no idea why that happened, or why it tended to happen in the summer, but occasionally in the mornings she'd wake up and not be able to do more than wash her face and brush her teeth using bottled water from the fridge.

She could usually grab a shower at the White House gym, but the White House didn't have laundry facilities. Josh did have laundry facilities--an apartment-sized washer and dryer right in his own condo.

Tonight, she thought, smiling to herself as she headed back to her desk, would be luxury. She would get to drive a well-tuned, air-conditioned car to a well-appointed, air-conditioned condo and do her laundry. She'd enjoy the sensation of not hearing her neighbours through her walls, some precious solitude, a killer stereo system, and what else?

Right. Air conditioning.

Maybe she'd bring food with her and pamper herself a little, make an evening of it.

Then a thought struck her. Maybe she could use his shower while he was there.

He had a fabulous shower, though she was sure he'd never fully appreciated it. True, he didn't have a  
bathtub--a major oversight--but the shower nearly made up for it. It was a spacious, tiled enclosure, big  
enough for five, with a hinged, frameless glass door and brass fixtures.

It had a *bench*, for crying out loud.

And while she could always get clean in the White House gym, she hadn't been able to take a long,  
private, luxurious shower in ages.

Oh, yeah, she thought. She was definitely using his shower.

She worked swiftly through the mound of files on her desk. Josh would be gone for several hours, but she  
wanted to finish her work tonight and not put anything off until tomorrow. She'd managed to clear most of his Saturday, and if he was free, then she wanted to be free too.

When she looked at the clock and realized she was on schedule, she smiled with satisfaction. Grabbing her purse, she strode down the corridor and out of the West Wing, reviewing her mental to-do list for the evening as she went.

The smothering heat hit her like a brick wall the moment she stepped out of the building. The August sun was waning from yellow to orange, but the heat still rippled in waves against the concrete. The temperature plus the abysmal air quality in DC had a stifling effect.

She could feel her face flushing from the heat as she headed for Josh's car, and she automatically tugged at the top buttons on her blouse, loosening them and fluttering the fabric, trying in vain to create a breeze. She spared a moment to wish that she had some cooler clothes with her, but everything she owned needed washing very, very badly.

When she opened the door to the car, the baked air inside nearly choked her. She turned the car's air conditioning on full blast and simply sat for a few moments, waiting for its cool relief to finally reach her. Eventually the vents began blowing cold air, and much happier, she put the car in gear.

Her first stop was the grocery store; deciding to take advantage of the fact she had a car tonight, she bought enough to stock her own kitchen as well as a purchase small lasagna to bake in Josh's never-used oven. She felt slightly guilty about her choice of supper: her mother had always told her how wasteful--not to mention counter-productive--it was to turn on an oven in an air-conditioned room.

But she wasn't going to care about electricity tonight. Or water.

Stopping at her own apartment was a hot and unpleasantly stuffy experience. The beads of perspiration that had formed on her forehead when she'd walked in the door were soon dampening her hair and dripping down her face.

Swiftly she gathered her dirty clothes and toiletries, slung her heavy laundry bag over one shoulder, lifted her big laundry basket in both hands, and left as quickly as possible.

The heated, stagnant air outside made the task of unloading the car and hauling all her things up to Josh's condo long and uncomfortable. By the time she was finished, she was wet with perspiration, flushed red, and completely exhausted.

She tottered in under the weight of her clothing, kicking the door shut and heading straight for the back room that was little more than a storage cupboard to house his washer and dryer. Exhaling, she dumped her burden and enjoyed the satisfying muffled thump her clothes made when they hit the floor.

She had a schedule planned out to make the most efficient use of her time at Josh's, and as soon as she caught her breath, she would put her plan into action.

First, she started a load of laundry.

Then she stripped off every last stitch of clothing she was wearing, toeing off her shoes and peeling off her damp undergarments, dropping them carelessly on the pile with the rest of her belongings.

Then she found the nearest air vent and spent a few minutes just reveling in the feel of frosty cold air-conditioned air chilling her sweat-dampened skin. Her body reacted with a shiver of pleasure, craving the sensation of simply cooling off. As she turned around in the stream of air, letting it reach her back as well as her front, she decided that feeling this cold was quite possibly the highlight of her week.

Eventually she decided she had enough goosebumps and left the air vent. Naked, she padded back out to the kitchen, belatedly remembering to lock the apartment door again as Josh had instructed.

She pulled the lasagna out of its packaging, slipped it into the oven and set the timer for forty-five  
minutes.

Her schedule to ensure a smooth and efficient evening was now in motion. Every task had been completed in the proper order: groceries, then laundry, then cooking. She'd get out of the shower just as the first load was finished, so that she could put on a second load and then be ready to eat her lasagna.

She sighed happily. Now it was time to relax. She helped herself to a couple of Josh's decent towels and headed into the bathroom. The next few hours stretched ahead of he. Humming with pleasure, she stepped into his huge, magnificent shower and ducked her head under the cool, refreshing spray.

The water streamed over her, washing away the heat and stress of the day.

Maybe when she got out of the shower, she'd try his stereo system.

*****

If anyone asked him why he'd left so early, he was going to blame the heat.

Most people would assume that he was referring to the broken air conditioning in the convention centre, and that in itself was a pretty decent excuse. The staff had brought in fans to try and alleviate the heat, but they just weren't enough to compensate for the lack of air conditioning in the crowded main hall.

Add to that the fact that he'd managed to conduct his most important business within a few minutes of arriving, and his reasons for leaving were even better. He'd found Brenda in the main hall almost immediately and had used the gift to put her in a good mood. Silently he thanked the Italian ambassador as she began chatting about harmless things--like the stunning beauty of the Amalfi coast--that were in no way related to domestic policy.

She'd wanted to linger over their drinks, and mindful of Leo's warning, Josh had agreed. After a while, though, he decided not to push his luck and managed to attract some other people to the table. He got them all talking, then excused himself.

He didn't realize until after he'd left her table that he'd actually been relatively safe with Brenda. Now he was circulating like he was supposed to, but he was hot, tired and cranky. The chances of him sticking his foot in his mouth were skyrocketing by the minute and there was no way he'd be able to pull off any spectacular deals when it was clear everyone was as overheated and grumpy as he was.

His mind began to drift. Home, he thought. Air conditioning. Maybe he'd take a cold sh--

"Excuse me," said a feminine voice. "Aren't you Josh Lyman?"

He turned and automatically smiled at the stunning, dark-haired woman who'd called his name. "Yes, yes I am."

"I'm a big fan." She stretched out her hand hesitantly.

He decided not to make the obvious joke, given the broken air conditioning. Instead, he turned on the charm, grasping her hand and squeezing it for a bit longer than necessary. "I'm flattered."

She blushed a bit, if that were possible given that her face was already pink from the heat. "I'm Irene," she said, a little breathlessly.

"And what can I do for you, Irene?" he asked, flashing a dimple.

She bit her lip, looking up at him shyly from under her dark lashes. "I, ah, don't usually do this, but...is there somewhere around here where we could, uh, talk?"

His smile widened to a grin. "I think I could find somewhere a bit more private."

The trepidation on her face vanished. "Excellent," she said eagerly.

"Right this way." He was pleased to note her expression of anticipation as he led her out of the main hall and into one of the smaller conference rooms.

"Now," he said, treating her to his best playboy smile as he closed the door behind them. "What can I do for you?"

She cleared her throat. "Well, I'm with the Federal Highway Administration, and most recently I've been liaising with Senator Hooper's office..."

He stifled a groan, resisted the urge to beat his head against a wall, and reminded himself yet again that when you were the Deputy Chief of Staff to the President of the United States of America, it wasn't necessarily a good idea to automatically flirt with every pretty girl who flashed a smile at you.

It took what seemed like ages to disengage himself from Irene. As she chattered on, he let his mind dwell on how he was going to explain this little scene to Donna, who was probably going to have to set up the meeting with Hooper's people after all. And if that happened, she'd likely be ordering fruit baskets for everyone at the FHWA the following day.

When he did manage to escape, he reentered the stuffy main hall with something approaching relief.

Short-lived relief.

The heat was on.

It seemed like every female Democrat he'd flirted with on or since election night was bent on tracking him down and lobbying for something.

Okay, maybe he hadn't flirted with all of them previously, but there was a distinct chance that was the case and it was damn hard to keep track.

As he pasted on an interested smile and then ignored the fourth person to waylay him, he told himself that  
he really should start exercising some discretion. He knew that ever since he'd ended things with Amy, he'd gone a little crazy with his Lyman the Lover routine, at least in public.

He wasn't sure why he found it necessary to try and charm every woman he met. After all, between the time Mandy had dumped him and the moment he'd bumped into Amy, he hadn't bothered chasing women at all. Now he was chasing all the time, albeit unsuccessfully. He wondered what had changed.

Suddenly the image of Donna and her parade of gomers appeared in his mind and he decided not to pursue that train of thought any farther.

In any case, he had more pressing problems at the moment. Apparently, word had gotten out that Josh Lyman would try to pick up any attractive woman within a hundred yard radius, but couldn't keep track of what he'd said to whom. All you needed to do to get a few minutes for your cause was smile and pretend you'd met before.

He could feel the heat of their deceptively casual glances. He could sense it as he moved--dodged--around the room, careful not to spend too much time in any one place.

Every female lobbyist this side of the Potomac was stalking him.

Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly true. There were definitely some male lobbyists trying to get to him as well. One had helped him break away from a conversation with a petite redheaded bank reformer only to start chattering on about rock quarries on the Lake Superior shoreline.

One more circuit of the main hall, he told himself, just to keep Leo happy.

It took him a lot longer than he would have liked, but he finally got the hell out of Dodge.

He stepped out of the stifling convention centre and into the completely oppressive wall of heat and humidity that was DC in August. And there was yet another thing that wasn't fair, he thought disgustedly. Women got to wear skirts. Sure, they bitched about nylons, but how could a filmy, see-through piece of material possibly be as uncomfortable as a suit in this heat?

He stripped off his jacket and tie, but in the minute it took him to hail a cab he began sweating profusely. He loosened the top few buttons of his shirt as he climbed into the taxi, noting ruefully that it wasn't air conditioned. Because of the traffic, they moved slowly through the city streets and his open window didn't provide much relief from the heat.

He climbed out as soon as they'd pulled to the curb in front of his building, thrusting what he hoped was a  
decent tip to the driver in his haste to get out of the hot car.

He was undoing the rest of the buttons of his shirt even as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. Unlocking the door swiftly, he stepped inside his cool, air-conditioned home and sighed with relief.

Out of habit, he automatically went to the living room and switched on CNN, cranking the volume so that he'd be able to hear it from anywhere in the apartment.

He toed off his shoes and then stripped off his shirt, tugging his undershirt out of his pants as he headed for the bathroom. He felt sticky and smelly and wanted nothing more than to get cleaned up.

He opened the bathroom door.

And realized that his mother had been completely wrong.

*****

He'd given his mother the grand tour of his new condo just after he'd first bought it. On the whole, she had approved--after all, it was spacious, well-maintained, and full of state-of-the-art conveniences. So full, in fact, that she'd spent a good five minutes laughing at his kitchen before asking him if he remembered how to cook.

The only thing she'd been critical of was his shower. She'd taken one look at his well-appointed bathroom and told him that the shower was completely impractical. Too big, she said. You could fit five people in there. And the walls and door were made of clear, smooth glass, not etched or frosted or patterned.

He'd started to grin when she said that and she'd smacked him on the arm. I'm not talking about modesty, Joshua, she'd said, though that was something else to consider, but he was a grown man and she wasn't going to say anything about that.

Look at that glass, she'd said. How was he going to keep it clean? Sure, it looked fancy now because no one had ever used it. Once he did, though, every little spot was going to show.

The shower was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

At the time, he'd sighed and agreed with her, and hadn't mentioned the cleaning service he'd hired.

Now his mother's last words on the subject echoed in his head and he realized that he'd never be able to tell her how wrong she was about the shower. With each second that passed, his shower with the smooth clear glass walls was paying him back for every cent he'd spent on the cleaning service.

His jaw had dropped to the floor the moment he'd opened the door. Now he stood rooted to the spot, transfixed by the sight in front of him.

A beautiful naked woman was using his shower. A beautiful naked woman named Donna, most likely.

Her back was to him, so he couldn't be sure it was Donna and that he hadn't walked into the wrong apartment.

He hoped he hadn't, but it was a possibility, he told himself. The only failing of his clear glass shower was that it was, well, there. The walls were covered with water droplets that obscured his view almost as much as patterned glass would.

He studied the parts of her he could see: her slim arms, raised to rinse shampoo out of her long, blonde hair; the suds trailing rivulets down the smooth, pale skin of her back; her waist cinching in and then rounding out to perfect hips and a firm, curved behind that made him want to drop to his knees and worship. And her legs--long, slim, graceful, even when she was barefoot.

Yes, this was Donna, and after this, he'd never get any work done around her ever again.

Some logical part of him noted that the glass wasn't steamed up. In this heat, she would be taking a cool shower.

And there was one sure way to tell if she was cold, the lascivious part of him thought, raking his eyes over her again from head to toe before focusing on a spot just around her shoulder blades. All she had to do was turn to the side, just a little, just a tiny little bit more, so that he could catch a profile of her...there...no. She was still facing the spray, her back firmly to him.

At least she still hadn't noticed him.

Damn, he thought, backing up as common sense made a belated appearance.

What the hell was he doing? His hand closed around the doorknob. Leave now, he told himself, before she notices. She didn't hear you over the sound of the shower, so get out before she does.

She dropped her bath sponge and bent over to pick it up. His mouth went dry, his hand dropping heedless from the doorknob. She decided to soap up her feet and legs while she was bent over, and he forgot his own name as he stared, spellbound, through the droplets on the shower wall at the pouting pink area barely visible between her legs. A sudden sharp ache flared in his groin, making him painfully aware of his growing erection.

Oh, god, he thought. She shifted her attention from one foot to the other and he tilted his head, hungering for any flash of pink he could see. The sight she was unknowingly treating him to was better than any stripper he'd ever seen, any girlfriend who'd put on a show for him.

She straightened and his attention derailed and recentred on another part of her body. He craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of breast.

There, he thought, she was turning now, slightly, so that any moment he'd get a profile--obscured by water droplets, of course--but still he'd be able to see the curves of her breasts unadulterated by a bra.... She was turning, and he could kind of make out a round fullness, and if she turned a bit more, he'd be able to see the colour though not the actual shape of her nipple, but the colour would be enough... She turned a little more, and then he saw a deep rose tip that really shouldn't have come as a surprise, given the colour of her lips, but was still an amazing gift, and now he could see the round swell of her breast above her ribcage, which was the most erotic curve he had ever seen on a woman's body... And then she kept turning, and the profile was gone, and he was seeing them fully, their sweet shape, their perfect colour... His eyes traveled down from those beautiful swells to the triangle of dark blonde hair between her legs, and then he pulled back to look at all of her again, from head to toe... And he was rooted to the spot, completely transfixed by the sight of her standing under the spray... And then true to his recent luck with women, she opened her eyes, saw him, and screamed.

Shocked and embarassed, he stumbled backwards, stammering apologies, bumping into the door behind him. While he fumbled, trying to simultaneously open the door and vanish through it, she was trying in vain to cover herself with her hands.

She quickly gave up, turning away instead. In her haste, she slipped on the wet tiles. Her feet went out from under her and she yelped in distress.

As she went down, he saw her throw her hand out and catch the towel rail, but her feet scrabbled under her, unable to find purchase on the soapy floor of the shower.

He started forward instinctively, heedless of the water, flinging open the shower door and catching her up under her armpits before she could land on the ground.

He wrapped his arms around her, hauling her back to her feet, and she clung to his shoulders with fleeting panic.

"There," he said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. "I've got you."

"Oh my God," she panted. Her chest was pressed to his and he could feel her heart still pounding rapidly.

He held her more tightly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the shower wall, unaware of the cool water pouring down over his shoulders and back. "I'm sorry," he muttered against her wet hair. "I didn't mean to scare you. I forgot..."

She started to get her breathing under control. "It's okay," she said. "I just kind of panicked, and then..."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I shouldn't have..."

"It's okay," she repeated. She released her iron grip on his shoulders but didn't let him go. Instead, she pulled away a little. He stared resolutely at the patch of tile just to the left of her ear.

She didn't say anything for the longest time. When he finally decided that at least one of them should say something, he steeled himself to look her in the eye and saw that she had the strangest expression on her face.

He couldn't read her expression. "Are you okay to stand by yourself?" he asked, a little concerned.

Her gaze raked over him. "You're wet."

"Uh, yeah," he said sheepishly. "I'm standing in a shower."

"You're soaked." She reached up to brush the wet hair plastered to his forehead, then trailed her hand to his drenched undershirt.

He watched in confusion as she fingered the wet fabric. "Donna?"

Her hands slid down to his waist, then burrowed up under the shirt to stroke his skin. His confusion grew.

"Donna?"

"Take it off," she said softly, tugging at the fabric.

"What?" he squeaked, his jaw dropping open in shock .

"You can't keep it on, it's soaked. Take it off."

He released her and she staggered a little, pressing her lips together to stifle a noise.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

"Take it off," she repeated as she regained her balance.

He did so, tossing the undershirt to one side, where it landed with a wet splat.

He felt her gaze like a caress. Then she took a half step forward, put her arms around his neck and drew his head down. "Excellent," she said, just before kissing him hard on the mouth.

He didn't stop to consider the consequences, following her lead instinctively, opening his mouth to her tongue. She tasted cool and sweet, like fresh summer rain, and she turned them both so that the spray from the shower caressed their faces as their mouths met again and again.

His hands found her waist and he pulled her even closer, so that the water poured down both their bodies together.

He had no idea what was happening. Even though he'd wanted Donna for ages--if pressed, he would admit that he'd been lusting after her since before their first election--the sensation of their bodies meeting was completely novel and overwhelming.

He'd loved her on some level--a level he'd been reluctant to quantify--for years. But reluctant would not in any way describe his body's current reaction. Physically speaking, his interest was completely engaged, and his mind, to say nothing of his emotions, were quickly catching up.

Any moment now he was going to cross a line and become completely bound to her.

He knew that he craved that bond, but even though her mouth was fastened to his, he really should check with her. She might have a completely different perspective, and he wanted to know what that was before they went any farther.

"Donna?" he mumbled, breaking their kiss for a moment.

She murmured something unintelligible and her hips swayed against his now sodden trousers, brushing against what he'd already decided was a huge and somewhat painful erection. He whimpered.

She fused her mouth to his again and all coherent thought abandoned him for the second time. He barely registered her hands at his waist, undoing his fly and peeling his pants off his hips, barely heard the slap of wet fabric as the last of his clothing landed around his ankles.

The water streamed down over his bare skin, his hips, his groin, his thighs, and washed away the last of the stickiness he'd accumulated in the heat. He felt clean and cool and suddenly able to focus his thoughts--thoughts which led straight to Donna, who at that moment put her arms around his neck again and deepened their kisses once more.

He should figure out what the hell was going on, he thought. Pulling away slightly, he said her name more  
forcefully.

The hazy desire in her eyes cleared briefly and she met his gaze.

He seized the moment. "We should ta..."

Then she lifted her hips and brushed her groin against him, and he almost blacked out from the sensation of her hair tangling with his. He barely noticed that she no longer looking him in the eye. He'd had an erection pretty much from the moment he'd walked into the bathroom, but when she rubbed herself against it he was ready to come right there, right then.

He held back and she distracted him with her mouth again. The kissing, he decided, could go on forever. They were communicating without words, perfectly in sync, even if he had no clue what they were saying.

She apparently felt the same way about the kissing because she showed no inclination of stopping. Each time they drew apart for a breath, their eyes met for a brief, incredulous moment, and then she was devouring him again. She had great technique, he admitted; he found himself using all his own skills to make sure that he was giving as well as taking.

As much as he wanted the kissing to continue, though, a sense of urgency was building in his groin. In spite of the cool water rushing over him, his erection was growing. He let his hands slip from her waist to her perfect ass, squeezing and lifting her against him.

She moaned her appreciation, tilting her hips, and it took his last vestige of common sense to keep from lifting her just a little higher and slipping his cock up into her right then and there.

No, he told himself. You haven't tried anything like that in ages.You aren't twenty five anymore--you aren't even thirty five anymore.

The thought was disappointing and not a little discouraging. He consoled himself by thinking that maybe he could try that stunt another time, provided that he figured out what in God's name he was doing with Donna right now.

That idea made him feel better and at the same time worse.

Speaking of which, said his conscience again, what *are* you doing with Donna right now?

Damn. Still no clue.

Well, he had a pretty good idea where things were heading physically, but the "why" was still a big question mark.

His hands, however--not to mention other parts of his body--were not particularly concerned with the why of the situation. They slipped down, over the curve of her ass to the crevice between her legs.

He caught her little shriek of shock and pleasure in his mouth. Stroking her allowed him to take control of the kiss and he did, moving his fingers and tongue together to fondle her and penetrate her.

Within moments she was quivering and when he slid another finger into her she came apart, clamping on to  
him with more than her arms. He swallowed her surprised whimpers, still moving his fingers inside her.

When she finished, she tore her mouth away from his and stared--really stared--at him for the first time since she'd kissed him.

"Donna," he began again, uncertain.

Then she was turning them again so that she caught the shower spray on her back, and he had to shuffle to kick his pants away from his ankles. She released her grip on him and slid downwards, swaying a little unsteadily.

The shower beat down on his chest now that Donna's body wasn't there to block it. He looked down through the stream of water just in time to see her slip to her knees with a soft grunt. Before he could say anything, her wet, blonde head ducked and her mouth took his cock. The sight of her head moving down there was enough to make him groan.

Her lips stroked him, encased him. She was hot and slippery and did things with her tongue he'd never experienced before. His fingers laced through her wet hair, urging her closer, and he felt her take him deeper into her mouth. He had no words. When her hand began to stroke his balls he couldn't help but buck forward. She steadied herself with her other hand on his hip and together they managed to set up a gentle thrusting motion.

He couldn't watch her anymore; the sight of her taking him into her mouth again and again was going to send him over the edge far too soon. He flung his head back and shut his eyes, letting the cool stream of water from the shower pound down and stream across his chest, feeling the rivulets make their way lower, over his belly, around his groin, down his legs.

It caressed him everywhere, but in the middle of his body a buzz of pleasure was quickly expanding and sharpening, all because of Donna. The sensations caused by water spilling down his skin soon faded by  
comparison.

Her hand left his hip and gripped his cock too, following where her lips went, bringing extra friction to her movements. His hips began to thrust faster of their own accord and her hands provided the extra sensation he craved, even as her lips and tongue continued to swirl and circle around his tip.

Then her fingers slipped up between his legs, caressing, and found exactly the right spot to press. He came unexpectedly, crying out as his hips jerked forward one last time, and because she had also been caught unaware, he spurted all over her hands, face and chest.

It was his turn to sway, then, and he caught her shoulder to keep his balance. As soon as he could, he extended his hand and helped her to her feet, noting that she leaned on him heavily.

He was torn between apologizing for coming on her without warning--he'd learned the hard way that some  
women had specific ideas about the etiquette involved in these situations--and asking her why she seemed to have trouble keeping her balance.

When her eyes finally came level with his, though, she was laughing, heedless of the sticky white on her face and chest.

She turned back towards the spray and soon everything was washed down the drain. Then she bent over, her perfect ass brushing his groin, and he wished he hadn't come so soon.

When she straightened, she was holding her forgotten bath sponge.

"Donna?"

She just smiled, poured shower gel on the sponge, and proceeded to quickly and efficiently lather him up from head to toe, turning him so she could do his back, too, spending only a little extra time with the sponge between his legs. When she pushed him under the spray he grinned, obliging her by rinsing himself and the sponge off.

He grabbed the shower gel himself then and washed her carefully, from her neck down to her ankles and back up again. Unlike her, though, he spent extra time with the sponge between her legs, encouraging her to arch back over his other arm so that her breasts were jutting upwards. He bent his head to taste them while he worked the sponge against her cleft and soon she was shuddering and crying out as she came again.

He tossed the sponge aside and pushed her under the spray, rinsing the last of the soap off her. She met his gaze but didn't say anything, letting the water stream down her face.

They stared at each other for a long time before he leaned past her, reached for the tap, and shut off the shower.

The silence between them was much more noticeable without the sound of rushing water echoing on the tile.

He had no idea what to say.

"Let's dry off," she suggested in a small voice, the first coherent words she'd said since she'd kissed him.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes not leaving hers. Slowly he reached out and pressed against the shower door, letting it swing open soundlessly. They'd evidently generated some heat in the shower, because the air rushing in felt chilly against his wet skin.

He gestured. "After you."

He saw her drop her gaze. She turned away, took a step out of the shower, then another step, and then she flinched as her foot landed on his bath mat.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she managed. "I think I just...when I fell I might have twisted something."

He was beside her immediately, wrapping his arm around her to help support her.

"I'm fine," she protested, trying to push him away.

"No you're not," he said. "I can tell."

"It's okay."

"I saw you wince in the shower."

He could see her breath catch and she looked up at him, startled.

"I noticed," he said, stifling his sudden annoyance. "You might not think I would, but I did."

She freed herself from his grasp and limped over to the stack of towels, tossing one to him before taking one for herself. "It's nothing,"she said steadily. "See?"

He was confused. In fact, he was beyond confused. It was as if the bold Donna who'd seduced him in the shower had completely vanished, and now there was only Donna at her most defensive and least convincing.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, trying his utmost to sound mild and keep the accusing note out of his voice.

"It would have kinda killed the mood," she said dryly.

"You were naked! I really don't think it would have."

She wrapped herself in the towel. "It doesn't matter." She threw open the bathroom door and left him standing there, cold, dripping wet, and exposed, gaping after her.

******

He was arguably one of the finest political minds of his generation, but when it came to women, Josh would admit privately--as in to himself alone--that he didn't always pick up on the little signals they gave off.

This wasn't one of those times.

He was definitely picking up a signal from Donna; he just had no idea what it meant.

He sighed, finished towelling off, and headed to his bedroom to pull on a t-shirt and boxers, discovering a sudden need to be dressed.

He liked to think that after his last few girlfriends, he had learned most of the standard post-coital signals. This Donna-signal, however, was not familiar at all. It wasn't the it-was-a-great-fuck-but-I'm-not-really-into-you signal, or the I-faked-it-and-I-want-you-to-know-that-because-you've-never-satisfied-me-sexually signal, or even his personal favourite, the I-had-three-orgasms-no-thanks-to-you signal.

Part of him was disappointed. In the back of his mind, he'd always hoped that if they ever got together, Donna wouldn't be like the others. She knew him, knew how clueless he could be, and would tell him straight out if she had a problem.

Apparently, though, that fantasy wasn't to be. In fact, he reflected, the only thing familiar about the situation was the suspicious feeling that he'd A) done something wrong or B) forgotten to do something right. He was going to have to start at the beginning and figure out what she was trying to tell him.

There was his peeping-Tom impression. But no, she probably hadn't noticed that, what with the impromptu show she'd inadvertently given him when she'd bent over to pick up her sponge. He recalled how his tongue had dragged on the floor, how he'd practically drooled, ogling her. No, she definitely hadn't noticed that.

So was it his approach?

Probably not. Swooping in and saving someone from injury was usually a pretty positive icebreaker.

Wait. Who initiated contact?

She had. He'd been trying--not too hard, but trying, nonetheless--to maintain some sort of non-sexual distance when she'd told him to take off his clothes and then stuck her tongue down his throat.

And damn, the woman had a fantastic tongue. She'd used it on him exuberantly. He'd followed her lead...mostly, he grinned to himself. And she hadn't seemed unhappy when he'd gotten creative.

Right. So it wasn't anything he'd done up to that point. And the during part was pretty much okay.

He remembered the surprise on her face when he'd taken her nipple into his mouth, coaxing her to another orgasm.

Oh, the during part had been terrific.

So what had gone wrong? True, they hadn't actually, uh, consummated in the traditional sense of the word, but under normal circumstances, they should have stumbled from the shower to the bedroom and started warming up for round two.

Or round three, he smirked, depending on who you talked to.

But they hadn't.

Why hadn't they? He paused, reviewing their brief conversation in his head.

Her limp. She'd lied, he'd called her on it, and things had all gone to hell from there.

Was he supposed to ignore the fact that she was hurt? No, he decided. As a decent human being he should have mentioned it, made sure she was all right.

She really, really hadn't wanted to talk about it, though.

Actually, now that he thought about it, she hadn't wanted to talk at all. Not before, not during, and definitely not after.

He froze, shocked, his towel dropping to the bedroom floor as the significance of that fact hit him.

Donna not wanting to talk? That never happened.

And she hadn't wanted to talk to him even BEFORE they'd...before he'd...

It wasn't anything he'd done at all!

"Yes!" he shouted, punching the air in victory.

He knew that this kind of thinking had got him into trouble before, but he was going to go with the hypothesis one more time. The law of averages said he had to be right at least once.

He didn't bother to form a plan of attack. "Donna!" he bellowed, storming out of his room to the laundry closet. He halted in front of her and saw that she was methodically stuffing all her dirty clothing back into the hamper and bag she'd brought with her.

She looked up, hitching the towel she was still wearing around her more tightly. "Yes?"

"What's happening here?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Don't give me that. You know exactly what I mean," he said flatly. "Something's wrong. You're pretending that there's not, but I can tell."

She pasted a smile on her face, but he knew it wasn't sincere. "Josh," she began, tugging at her towel again. "There's nothing wrong...wait. Is there?"

He was distracted by her questioning tone only for a second. "Oh no you don't," he said. "We were doing really great there for a while, Donna, really, really great, and then all of a sudden, nothing. What happened?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "This is why you're angry? Because we didn't--finish?"

"No!" he exploded. "Hell no! Besides," he glanced down briefly, "I won't be good again for...well, for a little while...that's not the point!"

"What is the point?" she asked tersely.

"You not talking to me! You packing up all your dirty laundry after finagling your way in here! You...going after me in that shower like a do...uh..."

"Like a what?" Her voice was dangerously quiet.

"Like a Democrat after universal health care..."

"Nice save." Her lips twitched.

He took her humour as a sign and sidled closer. "You did, you know. You grabbed me in that shower." He reached for her hands, pulling the laundry from her grasp.

"You looked really hot, there, just for a second," she offered. "What with your undershirt sticking to your chest, your hair all flattened and wet..."

"Sounds attractive," he snorted.

"Plus you'd just rescued me. I couldn't help myself," she finished sweetly.

He grinned, then realized what she was doing. "No."

"No?"

"No," he said again. "You're trying to say it was something it wasn't. That whole thing," he gestured vaguely in the direction of the bathroom, "wasn't about sex."

She gave him an amused look. "It kind of felt like sex from where I was standing."

"It wasn't," he insisted. "There was more than just physical attraction. I felt something and so did you."

"We felt each other."

"No!" He slammed his fist down on the washer for emphasis. "Right there, when we were kissing, that wasn't all there was. There was emotion. There was communication."

"Communication."

"Yes!" He stepped back, flinging his arms wide. "Kind of like the opposite of what we're doing now."

"Oh, I have no idea what the hell we're doing now," Donna snapped. She tugged her again-full laundry bag  
over her shoulder and carried it past him, heading for the front door.

"Like hell you don't," he barked, following close at her heels. "You're the one who started this."

"Actually, Josh, I think that was you, running in to save me..."

"Tell me what's wrong!"

"Nothing!" she shouted. "Nothing's wrong with me, anyway--I don't know what's gotten into you." She dropped the bag at the door and turned, limping slightly as she started back to the laundry room.

He decided that badgering wasn't working and switched tactics. As he followed her back to her laundry, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me you'd hurt yourself?"

"It's nothing. I told you - my foot twisted under me a little when I slipped. It's fine now."

"It's not. You're still limping. And for some unknown reason you're packing up your stuff."

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to stay," she said coolly. "I'll call you tomorrow, when you've had-"

"Dammit, Donna!" he exploded. "Why won't you let me take care of you?"

"Take care of me?" She snorted.

"I have...ice...or aspirin...something..."

She whirled to face him. "I don't need you to take care of me. I'm fine, Josh!" Then she turned her back to him, heading for the laundry room door.

He caught her arm to stop her from leaving. "No, you're not. In fact, you haven't been since I first stepped into that shower. Donna, if this is going to work, you have to talk to me."

"This? As in we might repeat this charming scene again, at a later time?" she asked bitterly, refusing to meet his eyes. "It was just sex, Josh, that's all 'this' was."

"No, it wasn't." They were back to that again. "Donna." He squeezed her arm but she didn't lift her gaze. "I thought with you of all people I wouldn't be left guessing. But I am."

"Josh..." She tried to shake off his hand, but he wouldn't let her. He raised his other hand to her face and tilted it towards him, surprised to see her blue eyes wide and glistening.

"You know how much I suck at this kind of thing," he persisted softly.

She bit her lip.

Then his second epiphany of the day hit him like a bolt of lightning. His eyes widened in realization...then comprehension...his jaw dropped in a silent 'oh'...and he released her, stepping back, ignoring her sudden frown.

His voice rose. "And so do you!"

"What?" she choked.

"You so suck at this too, Donna. Oh, I can't believe I didn't see this before. List the gomers..."

"Josh!" She backed away, retreating toward the familiarity of the laundry closet, but he followed her.

"You!" He was practically pointing. "You haven't had a successful relationship in the entire time I've known you. It's not just me! It's you!"

"You're insane!" she spat, backing up.

"And here I am," he warmed to his topic, "trying to be all sensitive and mature and talk about our problems, and you're acting like a five-year old!"

"I am not!"

"You are too!"

"I am n..." She broke off, apparently realizing where that conversation was heading, and visibly collected her thoughts. "'We' do not have problems. I have no problems. You, apparently, have many."

"The denial angle? Is this how you left Commander Wonderful? Dr. Freeride?"

"My history has nothing to do with this."

"Your track record speaks for itself."

"I just haven't met the right person, yet!"

"And who is the right person, Donna?" he shouted. "Let me think. Someone who doesn't take advantage of you? Someone who doesn't take you for granted?"

"Yes!" she thundered.

"Well it's a damn shame I'm here, then," he snarled, grabbing her arms. He didn't give her a chance to react, pulling her close and kissing her hard.

She might have tried to push him away, but within seconds the spark between them kindled again and they both forgot to be angry, succumbing to the new pulse-pounding feelings that flared between them.

His hand came up to cup her face. He felt her body relax and her hand slide around his waist. He deepened the kiss and the balance shifted; she became the aggressor, stabbing her tongue deep into his mouth as she clutched at his ass.

Then, as she toyed with the hem of his t-shirt, he realized that she was doing it again, taking control and redirecting their actions.

He needed to stop her from doing that.

The realization came to him suddenly: she was as nervous about this as he was. The only way to get past her defenses was to put all his cards on the table and hope like hell she would recognize what it was he was offering. Fear rose in his chest--fear that what he offered would be too much, that she would panic and throw everything, including him, away.

He steeled himself; if she did that, he would simply have to persuade her to change her mind.

They were both breathing heavily when he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. Their gazes met steadily and he gathered his courage with a deep breath.

"I love you," he whispered.

******

She drew back in surprise--not out of his arms, but far enough that she could see his face properly.

"I love you," he repeated firmly. "And that's why I'm not like the others. Sometimes, maybe, I take advantage of you, and sometimes, maybe, you take advantage of me, and that's okay."

Her mouth opened, but he didn't give her a chance to speak.

"And you already know I'm different. When it matters, when it comes down to the absolute worst day of your life, you know I won't be taking advantage of you, or taking you for granted. It'll be the worst day of my life, too."

"Josh..."

"You're always there when I need you, Donna, and you know I've always been there for you."

She bit her lip.

"Right?" he pressed.

She nodded, whispering, "Yes."

"And you know I love you."

"Yes." Her voice was almost soundless.

"And you know that no matter what you do..."

She pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him. "I know," she breathed.

"I trust you," he said simply.

"You do," she agreed.

"So what do I have to do to convince you that I'm trustworthy too?"

Her face flushed as she met his gaze, and she didn't say anything for a moment. Then she started to cry.

She threw her arms around him and he caught her close. He stroked her back in what he hoped was a soothing way, letting her sob into his t-shirt and wondering yet again what the hell was going on.

Until he realized what it was she was mumbling against his chest.

"You're not like the others," she cried.

"No," he whispered, though he wasn't sure she could hear him.

"You're not going to..."

Let you sell yourself out at the drop of a hat? he finished silently. He really did hate the bastards she'd dated. Out loud, all he said was "No." He was never going to let her do that again, not for any reason.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled against his now damp t-shirt.

"It's okay."

"You're not like them," she said again.

"No." He tilted her face up towards him again. "I love you." Her blue gaze, still a little wet, met his. "Talk to me," he said softly.

"I love you too, Josh," she said.

He wanted to grin but couldn't, not until he was sure that her next word wasn't 'but'.

"And I do trust you. I just forgot that I did," she continued. "I didn't tell you about my foot because I was afraid that if we stopped..." She trailed off, looking embarrassed.

"We wouldn't start again?" he finished. "Donna, I don't know if you noticed, but I was pretty aroused in there..."

"There was a chance," she said. "And I didn't want to take it. I've wanted you for so long..."

"You have?" He couldn't help but sound pleased.

"When I saw an opportunity, I had to grasp it with both hands."

He felt the tension drain out of him at her words, and suddenly he could grin."Well, I only remember one of your hands, but there was that thing you did with your tongue..."

Finally she laughed and threw herself at him again. He lifted her off her feet and swung her around, noting in the back of his mind that she wasn't all *that* heavy, and maybe it didn't matter so much that he wasn't thirty-five anymore.

When he set her down, the towel that had been slipping off her during their conversation fell to the floor completely. He stared at her.

She laughed.

He ignored her, taking a good look at all the curves he'd had his hands on before and soon would again.

Eventually, though, he couldn't dismiss her laughter, even if it did make certain parts of her quiver in an interesting way. "Are you going to finish your laundry or what?" he finally said, protesting her amusement.

"Fine." She moved past him to the door, but he was quicker, grabbing her laundry bag and hauling it back to the washer.

She smiled as he dumped it proudly on the floor of the laundry room for her. She began to sort clothes for another load and he leaned against the doorframe, watching her in silence.

The only thing intruding on his tranquil scene was the sound of CNN, still blaring in the background. He wandered out long enough to shut the TV off and then returned to lean in the doorway and look at her some more. Naked Donna doing laundry, he thought. He could work with this--there was that rumour about spin cycles that he'd never tested and he suddenly had some ideas.

Then another sound intruded on his consciousness. Puzzled, he asked, "What's that beeping?"

Her eyes widened as she heard it too. "I forgot about the lasagna!"

She rushed into the kitchen and he trailed behind her. "You made food?" he asked, interested.

"Yes...well..." She grabbed his dishtowels and gingerly rescued the pan from the oven.

Naked Donna cooking, he thought. Sex on the kitchen floor.

"... in there a little long, but," she poked it, "I think I was supposed to take the foil off at some point, so it's mostly okay."

He wondered if he had anything spreadable in his fridge that he could lick off her slowly.

"Josh?" she asked. When he didn't answer right away, still lost in his maple syrup dreams, she turned, looked down at his boxers and stifled a giggle.

He shook off his fantasy. "What?" he asked belatedly.

She turned abruptly and headed for his bedroom. "Maybe I should put some clothes on," she said. "Do you have a t-shirt I can borrow?"

He followed her in, saw her bend over as she searched through his bottom dresser drawers.

Her ass really was perfect.

"Hell, no," he said, coming up behind her and taking hold of her hips.

"Josh?" she asked, trying to straighten.

"Nope." He caught her eye in the mirror and grinned. His hand pressed down on the small of her back, keeping her bent over. "Hands on the dresser."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise and she stared into the mirror at his reflection behind her. He ground his boxer-clad erection against her for emphasis, and suddenly she burst out laughing.

"Hands on the dresser?" she choked out. "That's a smooth Josh Lyman line?"

"You know, most guys don't appreciate the laughing," he advised her, stepping back to let her up.

"Sorry," she managed, before going off in another gale of mirth. Her hands did find their way to the top of his dresser, but only to support her as she leaned against it, trying to contain her laughter. After a moment she tried to be serious. "It's just...Josh..." He could see her biting her cheek to keep from smiling. "Your prowess is legendary in the Democratic party."

"And it's hard-earned prowess," he agreed, vowing right then never to tell her why he'd come home early that evening.

"I guess I just expected more from my first time with the DNC's Most Eligible Stud than 'Hey, baby, bend over.'" she giggled.

"Most Eligible Stud?" He wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed her, resting his chin on her shoulder so that their faces were side by side in the mirror. "Okay, if you want to bring the nicknames, maybe I'll forgive you for the laughing."

She grinned. "I'll give it some thought."

His fingers drifted down and began stroking her cleft. After a moment she moaned her appreciation, arching her back like a cat.

"Hmmm..." he said in a low voice. "Maybe I just need to fine tune my delivery." He slipped a finger up into her and saw in the mirror that she pressed her lips together to stifle a noise.

He added another finger and then, carefully, another, stretching her. She was tight around him and he shifted his hand slightly, setting up a rocking motion that helped him ease into her, coaxing her to relax.

The heel of his hand rubbed against her clit and she moaned again, grinding her hips.

His free hand sought her breasts, reaching up to cup them in turn, squeeze them, tug at her nipples. She didn't stifle her squeaks of surprise.

His hands worked in tandem to set up a rhythm between her sex and her breasts and soon she was undulating, squirming to try and make the most of the sensations he was causing. Her hands of their own accord were planted firmly on the dresser, lending her support and a brace so that she could push back against him.

"Donna," he whispered against her ear.

He increased the pace of his movements and she whimpered.

"Donna," he murmured again in a low voice, enunciating his words clearly, so that she wouldn't be able to say afterwards that she hadn't heard hm.

His tongue found the soft skin of her throat and she made a more frantic noise.

He felt her shudder as his breath tickled her ear and he rewarded her by moving his fingers a little faster. "Baby..." he breathed. "Bend over."

She didn't hesitate, stepping back from the dresser and spreading her legs, so that her torso was parallel to the floor. He stifled his grin, knowing she could see his expression in the mirror if she chose, and gently eased his fingers out of her sex.

"No..." She whimpered at the loss.

He was back soon, though, coming from behind and spreading her buttocks apart before slipping three fingers back into her sex. He rocked against her again, easing them deep.

The feel of her opening for him, making herself available for his intrusion, was almost overwhelming. He suppressed the urge to add another finger, telling himself that that idea and any ideas that followed naturally along that line were definitely not appropriate for their first time.

Later, he told himself. Later maybe they'd make an evening of it, spend hours together coaxing her open. Then he could slip all his fingers up inside her and feel her close around him. He'd give her so much pleasure and she would entrust him completely with her body. The idea of making a connection at that level made him light-headed.

Later. He hauled his mind back to the present, which had its own possibilities. She was getting close, moaning his name over and over, and he was definitely ready for more.

"Top right drawer," he murmured in her ear.

She rummaged in the drawer with one hand and found the box of protection. She handed him a package, and he released her briefly to push his boxers out of the way and sheath himself.

She stared ahead, watching him in the mirror.

"T-shirt, too," she said.

He pulled it off quickly, then met her eyes in the mirror as he tugged her hips back and up. He used his foot to coax her legs further apart.

Then he took a moment to enjoy the sight of her, ready for him, spread for him, her breasts dangling forward.

And she loved him.

Damn, life was good.

He spread her folds and set his cock against her. "Ready?" he asked.

She was tense with anticipation and barely nodded.

He smiled at her in the mirror and she smiled back.

Then he slid into her, as deep as he could go, pausing only to readjust her hips slightly before pulling out and pushing back in again.

Once he felt her enclose him fully, he couldn't hold back and he absolutely didn't want to. She was fantastic, her cries echoing the grip of her hot body around him, her eyes feverish with desire. He pushed, he thrust, he rammed, he stroked, and she took it all and gave it back to him, her hips undulating, her muscles tightening, her voice shouting for him.

He was beyond any technique. All he could feel was Donna, rushing up to meet his every move, as eager and crazed as he. He slammed into her, trapping her hips tightly with his hands so that he could find the best angle, the deepest stroke, and did so over and over again until he was a mindless frenzy of motion.

At some point her cry of release penetrated his brain, sounding over the rattle of things tumbling off his dresser, the thump of his dresser rocking against the wall. The sound acted like a catalyst; his hasty thrusts redoubled in speed and then he was spilling into her, collapsing against her, his mouth dry as he shouted his forceful climax.

  
"Oh my god," she managed to say as he slumped forward, catching the dresser with his own hands for support.

He grinned weakly as he eased out of her. "I think we might have gotten a little carried away."

Together they surveyed the debris that at one point had been his personal effects neatly lined up on his dresser.

"Possibly," she said. "Just how soundproof is this place?"

"Who knows?" he asked rhetorically.

"I have a feeling you will, when the neighbours come by to complain."

"I'm never home," he grinned as he gestured towards the bathroom. "I'm just gonna..."

"Sure."

He could hear her pad out of the bedroom behind him, still naked. Something about her footsteps didn't register with him right away, but just as he finished cleaning himself up, he realized what was wrong.

******

He didn't bother to put his clothes back on.

"Hey!" He stomped into the laundry room after her and was stopped short by the small space and the sight of her calmly finishing sorting her clothes.

"Yes?"

"Your foot!"

"Yes?"

"You hurt it."

"Yes," she answered patiently.

"You didn't tell me!"

"Are we going to go through this again? Because I think we'd already kind of established all that." She closed the lid of the washer and twisted the dial to start the load.

"You were supposed to stop me...us. And say something."

"Again?"

"You were supposed to let me take care of you." He was on the verge of a very un-manly pout.

"I don't remember that," she said archly. "Besides, after the thing just now..." She blushed and he resisted the urge to snicker at her choice of words. "We were standing...uh, mostly...and I had to put a lot of weight on it."

He winced in dismay.

"I figured we'd moved on," she concluded.

"Hell no," he said. "Are you finished in here?"

"For the moment."

"Then no more walking for you." He swung her up into his arms and headed back to the bedroom.

"Josh!" She was shocked and delighted at the same time.

"You, Donna, are going to lay on this bed and not move a muscle..." He lowered her carefully to the mattress.

"Kinky. And what if I do move? Are you going to stop me?"

He did his best to ignore her, though she and his libido apparently wanted to take him down another pathway. "And I am going to bring you ice and aspirin and generally take care of you."

She grinned up at him. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You'll bring me food?"

"You cooked, it seems a shame to waste it."

"Laundry to fold?"

"I'll do the laundry," he said magnanimously.

She looked alarmed. "No you won't."

"I can do laundry!"

"No you can't."

"Do I not show up for work every day in clean clothes?"

"Do I not stick a reminder in your schedule three times a week to visit the dry cleaners'?"

"Well, yeah...but..." he grinned. "I don't dry clean my underwear."

She paused. "You know, incredibly, I think we actually just crossed a too-much-information thing."

"I can do laundry, Donna."

"If I hadn't just slightly twisted my foot but had actually amputated...no, wait. Even if both my legs had been amputated, I would still use my arms to drag my legless body across the floor to the washing machine rather than let you..."

"How would you reach the lid?" he interrupted.

She glared.

"Speaking of which, is there room in a load for my..."

"Next one," she said tersely.

He capitulated. "I'll bring you laundry to fold."

She stopped glaring. "So," she began in a more cheerful tone. "Does this no-walking thing mean that I get a day off work?"

He snorted. "Even if both your legs had been amputated, I would still expect you to use your arms to drag your legless body..." He broke off because she was giggling.

"Shucks," she grinned.

"Yes, you blew that because you wouldn't acknowledge my laundry skills."

"I'm okay with that."

"However," he jumped onto the bed next to her, "the new man in your life is very attentive. He'll take care of you all night long, and you'll be just fine tomorrow."

"Mmm." She smiled up at him as he leaned in to peck her on the lips.

He bounced off the bed and made for the kitchen. "Ice," he said triumphantly a few moments later, coming back into the bedroom with a glass bowl full of cubes.

She laughed. "It's in a bowl. How am I supposed to put that on my foot?" she asked.

He sat down on the bed next to her, looked down at the bowl, then back up at her. "Good point," he said. "Fortunately, I can improvise."

His hand dipped into the bowl of ice and brought out one cube.

She eyed it with some trepidation. "Josh?"

"You know," he said, wiggling the cube at her. "You can't go anywhere tonight. That crappy apartment of yours will be hotter than hell."

She flinched a little as a cold droplet of water slid off the ice cube and onto her thigh. "True," she agreed.

"You might as well stay here, where it's cool." He let his hand droop, so that the cube he held almost touched the skin of her hip.

"Thanks," she breathed.

"We don't need to be in until eleven?" he asked.

Her eyes were fixed on the ice he held and the drop of water hanging pear-shaped from the end of it. "That's your meeting with CJ."

"And I have the thing with Warner and then the thing with Kennedy..."

"That's all."

"And then I can drag you back here and find new ways to elevate your foot?

She grinned. "And then you're meeting Sam to drink beer and tell who-nailed-who stories."

"Oh." He looked disappointed. Then he realized what she was implying and he drew back, dismayed. "Donna," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I wouldn't say anything to him about...uh..."

She broke in matter-of-factly. "It's okay, Josh. You're going to want to tell him anyway."

He paused. "It is big news."

Donna looked pleased. "It is?"

"Very big."

She sat up and rewarded him with a kiss that sent a shiver through his entire body and made him think that maybe his days of sucking at relationships were over. The ice cube he was holding fell to the bed as he reached for her, heedless of his cold, wet fingers until he touched her and she shrieked.

"Sorry," she said a little sheepishly, breaking the kiss.

"Save the big noises for later," he teased, drawing back.

"Oh, god." Anticipation lit her eyes.

"So..." He returned to their earlier conversation. "We're telling people?"

"Sam, anyway," she agreed. "Besides, you'll walk in there tomorrow looking all smug and he'll know you've nailed someone recently."

He grinned. "I will not look smug."

"You already do." Her fingers trailed down his stomach towards his groin, drawing lazy patterns.

He stifled a groan. "Grateful, maybe," he managed. "Very grateful. Not smug."

"If only I could believe that," she murmured, her hand slipping lower.

He tackled her, grabbing her hands and pinning them to the bed above her head. "You are so smug right now..."

Grinning up at him, she offered, "You want to make me look grateful?"

"Oh, you will, missy. By tomorrow morning you'll be promising me your first-born child."

She opened her mouth and then shut it, and he realized what he'd said and that there was nothing politic she could say in return. Not sucking at relationships was one thing, but talking about first-born anything with someone who'd become your lover less than an hour ago and not having the entire thing explode in your face was a level of romantic expertise neither of them would ever attain.

She cleared her throat. "Let's worry about telling Leo first."

She was definitely getting the hang of the not-sucking-at-relationships thing too, he thought. The mention of Leo's name was an amazingly effective distraction from the first-born thing.

He refocused his thoughts and grimaced. "We'll have to do that anyway, even if we don't tell anyone else. I doubt anyone will notice anything different..."

"At least three people knew I was bringing my laundry to your house and none of them batted an eye," she snickered.

"Yeah," he wondered. "Why is that?"

"They think you're a big pushover," she teased.

He pounced on top of her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Or maybe..." He broke off as a thought occurred to him about what conclusions people might have already drawn about them.

Maybe they'd guessed and moved past it. He hoped that at least some of them had--they could help convince the more doubtful. His need to form a plan of attack as soon as possible was suddenly urgent.

"Maybe?" The teasing smile still lit her face but was fading. "Josh?"

"Do I have time to talk to Leo tomorrow?"

She winced. "I can call Margaret, see if he has some time before eleven."

"I know," he said softly, understanding the look of trepidation in her eyes. "But we're going to do this right. We aren't going to lie or hide anything."

"Promise me something," she said.

"What?"

"We're going to make this work," she said. "And twenty-four hours from now, barring an international crisis, we're going to be back here, naked together. But even if we aren't, promise me that we'll take some time off when the President's term is up."

"Time off?" Thoughts of everything he'd need to do to secure jobs for them once the administration was out of office suddenly filled his mind.

"At least a week or two," she said.

He frowned. "What for?"

Smiling, she answered, "So we can spend some time in bed."

Suddenly he was grinning. "A week or two in bed?" he asked. "Your faith in me is touching."

"I think by then you'll have decided two weeks isn't enough."

"Probably," he agreed, leaning down to kiss her.

He took a moment to pull back and let his eyes rove across her warm body. Her skin was pale and flawless, her breasts perfect round handfuls, and the plump mound of her sex the most enticing, erotic sight. Her nipples hardened under his gaze and he sensed a change in her breathing. His eyes met hers and suddenly they shared an understanding. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure they say yes," he vowed.

The way she reacted, pulling him down to her, slipping her tongue into his mouth and lifting her hips to brush her sex against his, made him think the not-sucking-at-relationships thing was definitely a thing of the past.

The bowl of ice tumbled against his leg, cold and sweating with condensation, and he remembered that he had plans for her, plans that involved the immediate future, not some indefinable what-if down the road.

He pulled back and slid off her, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with his elbow. He reached for the bowl of ice and planted it next to her ankle.

She turned her foot towards the chilly wet glass. "Mmm...that feels good."

"So that's your foot taken care of," he said, pleased. "Try not to kick the bowl onto the floor."

"I think I can manage..." She broke off, her eyes widening when she saw him reach down and grab another ice cube.

He smirked. "And remember what I said about not moving. That generates too much heat."

"Really?" she asked with a faint smile.

"Really," he confirmed with a grin.

Her eyes were fixed on the ice cube. He could see the tension in her thighs as she pressed them together, trying to keep from squirming.

"Now," he said, eyeing her pale stomach. "Let's cool you down."

The ice made contact with her skin.

THE END

  


 


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